


When the eyes had seen enough

by DeLowl



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:56:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeLowl/pseuds/DeLowl
Summary: After a particularly horrible end to a trip gone wrong, Clara and The Doctor find themselves shocked and traumatised by what they've seen.The most difficult thing for Clara, however, is seeing the Doctor's reaction.





	When the eyes had seen enough

**Author's Note:**

> It is currently 5 in the morning, I have work in two hours, but I just could not sleep until I had finished this. I was terrified that if I went to sleep, this story would just disappear from my mind.
> 
> Be warned - shit get's depressing.

There was so much he didn’t tell her. So much he couldn’t tell her. She’d known this from the moment they met. Everyone knew. One look in those eyes, and you’d get a glimpse of the history of the universe. These were eyes that had seen everything, felt everything, mourned everything. Behind those greyish-blue eyes were multiple lifetimes of weight, and looking into them only revealed a taste of it. Clara knew this. She knew the feeling of the weight, like she knew her own hands. She knew it, and after so long, she’d accepted that, she’d never know everything.

But now, as she watched him walking around the TARDIS console, absentmindedly flipping switches, and pushing buttons, as if he wasn’t really all there, and all his movements were out of habit, it was harder than ever to accept that she did not have a way of lightening his burden. His posture was tense, his eyes were empty. Since getting back, there had not been a sound between them. She didn’t blame him. This last trip had ended with tragedy. She had watched as the Doctor did everything he could to save the life of a young boy. She had watched him fail. She had watched as the boy was absorbed into the newly awakened carnivorous planet, mere metres from the TARDIS’ doors. He didn’t even scream, but his surprised expression, even though it only lasted a second, was burned into her mind. She and the Doctor escaped at the last second, as they so often did. But this time was different. This time, she had watched the grim reality dawn on the both of them. This time, they had failed to save even a single life.

Clara raised her hand, and wiped away her own tears. Her hand came away soaked in diluted mascara. She was crying heavily, already feeling fresh tears streaming down her face, but her mind was quiet. She supposed that she was in shock. She was completely numb.

The Doctor had stopped fidgeting with the console. He was leaning forward, with his hands on it, and his head down. She saw his shoulders trembling. Clara didn’t know what to do. She recognised that she, as his friend, should do something to comfort him, but her mind was empty. She couldn’t think properly, and her body felt too heavy to rise from the steps she sat on. Every blink of her eyes, she saw the boy’s expression, like someone had tattooed it to the inside of her eyelids. 

The Doctor clenched his fists tight enough to turn his knuckles completely white, his whole body shaking. Small sounds escaped him. She realised that he was crying. This startled her slightly. She had never seen him cry. She had seen him angry, distraught, frustrated, furious, even desperate. But in all of her time with the Doctor, she had never ever seen him cry. Small sobs and whimpers fell like waves through his body. And each one of them hit Clara, stirring... something in her. She supposed it was her own grief that responded to his, but was too numb to tell properly. She knew that if her heart hadn’t already been broken, it would’ve shattered at the sound. Clara looked down at her hands. They were trembling. She suddenly felt very cold all over, but she was sweating profusely. The front of her shirt was completely soaked in tears. They boy’s face flashed in her mind again. A new wave of tears joined the ones on the already soaked shirt, some dripping onto the floor of the TARDIS. She watched in some strange numb fascination as her own tears fell onto the grid under her feet, and slowly dripped down to the engine below. She wondered if the TARDIS could feel her sorrow.

A loud thunk ripped Clara from her thoughts. Her head whipped up to look at the source of the noise. The Doctor had fallen to his knees, his hands still clenched tightly on top of the console. Before she could react in any way, the Doctor threw his head back and screamed.  
He screamed and screamed, paused to breathe, and screamed again. Clara felt great grief in the sound. It resonated in her in a way she didn’t understand. This feral sound was something only a man in great pain could produce. She watched him go through each wave, and wondered how many times he had gone through this before. How many deaths had he witnessed? How many children? The pieces of her heart vibrated with each new scream, each new choked sob, and each new guttural roar.  
She opened her mouth, ready to scream out her own feelings of anger and sorrow over this unjust world, but no sound came out. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, and simultaneously like no time at all, the Doctor fell silent. His face locked in a painful grimace, he fell forwards. His whole body shaking, his hands gripping tightly at the hair on his neck, lying on his knees and elbows. She had never seen him so small. The whirring of the TARDIS was the only sound in the room. For just a brief moment, Clara felt something like honour at seeing her friend in such a vulnerable state, but it was quickly replaced by a slightly terrifying thought. Had he forgotten that she was here? In all his grief, did he know or even care that she was watching him?

After another long moment, the Doctor sat up. His face was slack, and he had stopped trembling. He leaned back, far enough that he sat down properly, with his back against the railing, eyes closed. The tears kept coming, but his body was completely still. No tension, no sobbing waves, just breathing. His hands fell in his lap. If she didn’t know better, she’d say that he looked relaxed. But she did know better. She knew that he was exhausted. She was too.

She didn’t know why or how, but she got on her feet. She stood for a moment, uncertain of whether her legs would carry her. Her eyes were fixed on the Doctor, and she was overwhelmed by a single impulse.

_Go to him._

Every step she took felt unreal, like she was in a dream state, like she wasn’t really moving her body at all. Nevertheless, it only took her a few steps to reach the Doctor. He didn’t seem to notice her at all as she sat down on her knees beside him. She felt like she had completely lost control of her own body. Like it was doing it completely by itself. Even more so, when she heard her own croaking voice.

“Doctor?”

She was surprised at how calm she sounded. She didn’t know exactly why she said his name, or what was to follow. She just did. Without moving the slightest bit, the Doctor opened his eyes, and looked at her. Greyish-blue met brown. There were so many things in his eyes. Things she had seen before, and things she doubted anyone in the entire universe had ever seen. So many feelings, so many words, laid out before her in a single look, and she understood nothing and everything at the same time. She wanted to say 20.000 things, but was too exhausted to say anything at all. She dearly hoped that all of the meaning and feeling in her words were shown in her own gaze. Not a word was spoken, but Clara sincerely doubted that she would ever have such a meaningful exchange in her life again. Her thoughts were interrupted by a soft plink-plink-plink. The rhythmic sound of fluid hitting a surface. Her eyes wandered over the Doctor’s body to locate where the sound was originating. His hands. They were dripping blood. She looked back up at him. He was still watching her, still expressionless.

“You’re bleeding.” She said softly. The Doctor lifted his hands a bit, and finally looked away from Clara to examine them.

“Yeah...” he said. He sounded so defeated. Like a man who had given up. The sound of it awakened an impulse in Clara. She didn’t know exactly what it was, perhaps some motherly instinct, perhaps the TARDIS encouraging her to do something. The same way she had been overwhelmed by the impulse to just go to him, she now found herself wanting to obey a new set of thoughts.

_Protect him. Heal him. Comfort him._

She had to fix him. Suddenly, nothing else seemed important. Her Doctor was hurting. She had to help him. She had to. Her mind was no longer silent. It was racing with ideas and solutions, completely focused on this one task. It was working hard to come up with some sort of plan, and she knew the first step. His hands.

The Doctor had closed his eyes again. His hands were once again limp in his lap. She felt a lump form where the remains of her heart was, causing a heavy and painful feeling, thumping quietly in her chest at the sight of him. She held out her hand.

“May I?” she asked. The Doctor opened his eyes again, and met hers. They lingered for a bit, and Clara saw something flash over his gaze.

_Affection_

Her senses told her. His eyes travelled downwards, and came to rest at her outstretched palm. Finally, he closed his eyes, lifted his hand and gave it to her, looking as if it required all of his strength to do it. Clara hated how silent and still he was.

_Fix him._

Her mind repeated. She took a breath, and looked at his hand. It was covered in blood. She was going to need to rinse the blood off and clean it. No sooner had she thought that, than a cabinet in the console part to her right had sprung open. Inside was a roll of soft paper towels, and a first aid kit. Clara gently put the Doctor’s hand in her lap, as she retrieved the items.  
After a small bit of clean-up, she discovered the source of the bleeding. In his grief, the Doctor had clenched his fists so hard, that he had broken the skin with his nails. Four perfectly half-moon shaped wounds were in each of his palms. Clara cleaned them with rubbing alcohol she found in the kit. She knew it had to hurt like hell, but the Doctor didn’t even flinch. He didn’t move at all. Had his hand not been so warm, and had she not seen him breathe steadily, she could’ve suspected that he had just... died. 

After carefully wrapping both of his hands in cotton and gauze, her mind raced to step two.

_Rest._

Her mind was working full-time, coming up with plans and schemes to get the Doctor to follow her. In the end, she decided to trust that the Doctor would trust her. Still holding his right hand, she stood up. He opened his eyes at the movement and followed her with his gaze. She returned it, willing all of her feelings to be spoken through it. She squeezed his hand a small bit. She knew it must’ve hurt, but the Doctor gave no such inclination.

“Come on.” She said softly. He sighed. Painfully and slowly, he got on his feet. Standing, he was much taller than her, and yet he still felt so small. He was unsteady on his feet, and looked as if he would like nothing more than to just collapse back onto the floor. By the hand, she guided him through a short corridor to his room. It felt stiff and weird to walk, and it took much longer than it would’ve if they’d both been... normal. As they reached the Doctor’s room, the door swung open by itself. Inside the bedroom was dark, but it didn’t matter. Clara sat the Doctor down onto the bed. He was still looking at her. She sat down in front of him, taking his hand in both of hers.

“I’ll be back in a moment, okay?”

He didn’t move, but she could feel his grip on her hand tighten a little bit. He eventually let go, and she hurried out. It took her less than a minute to get back to the console. Seeing the light column in the middle, she was overwhelmed by a sense of respect and affection for the machine. The TARDIS knew him better than she did. She knew the machine was telepathic, and focused all her energy into a single thought:

_How can I help him sleep?_

The TARDIS whirred a bit, and another cabinet popped open. Inside was what looked like a music box. Clara picked it up. It was beautiful and looked to be very old. Clara looked up at the light column, and put one hand on the console.

“Thank you.” She whispered, hoping the TARDIS felt just how much gratitude was really behind those words. Then she turned and walked back to the Doctor’s room. The Doctor was still sitting on the bed. He didn’t look like he had moved at all. Clara put the music box down on the nightstand. She wound it up, and opened it. The room filled with the beautiful notes of a sad lullaby. Clara had never heard any song like it. The Doctor closed his eyes, and very quietly, he started humming along. Clara sat down and helped him remove his shoes. She laid him back on his pillows. She removed her own shoes, and laid herself on the other side of the bed. She could feel him looking at her, but she no longer had the energy to look into those eternal eyes. It was too much for now. She closed her eyes, hoping that sleep would come quickly. In her blinded state, she felt the bed shift. The Doctor reached around her, and pulled her lightly towards him. She shifted her own weight to make it easier for him to hold her. If this was the comfort he needed, then this was the comfort she would be. He held her like he was scared she’d disappear if he let go. She felt him hesitate.

“Clara...” he croaked.

“I know, Doctor, I know.” She answered.

And barely had the words left her mouth, before both she and her Doctor fell into the dark hands of deep sleep.


End file.
